


Please (Don't) See Me

by SaltAndBurn (AlyssiaInWonderland)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Everything Hurts, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Other, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam sees more than Dean thinks he does, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, he just doesn't know what, he knows something is wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 05:38:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15901968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssiaInWonderland/pseuds/SaltAndBurn
Summary: Dean and his thoughts and coping mechanisms after another time he's left with not enough money to look after Sammy alone.Sammy knows something is wrong, he just doesn't know what. John knows something is wrong, he just doesn't seem to care.There is strong implication of him prostituting himself to get them money, but it's never totally explicit. You don't see the act, just the impact. I tagged it just to be sure though!I'm terrible at summaries, sorry - this is basically just young!Dean angst with Sammy being the sweet caring kid he is while still being a little brother too.





	Please (Don't) See Me

Dean looks in the mirror and doesn’t recognise himself.

He’s braced against the sink, arms trembling with strain. He wants to feel worse than he does.

He does feel vaguely sick, but the nausea is distant, half-real. Just like everything about him. He can see his eyes, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed garishly in the harsh motel light.

His lips aren’t painted, but they are very red. His stomach heaves and he closes his eyes, swallows around the pain, and even that is corrupted. His throat hurts, and he knows that when he speaks his voice is going to be scratchy and weak. He hates it.

He is struggling to breathe properly. His vision starts to grey out, and he catches himself as his knees threaten to collapse. His muscles feel worse than they would have after wrestling with a creature on a hunt, and his mouth twists into a bitter smile, because he kind of was wrestling with monsters, after all.

He looks away from himself as he steps back, shakily. He strips methodically, shivering a little until he turns on the shower. The steam billows out, thankfully hot. He takes a moment to be grateful that at least the water pressure doesn’t completely suck. He uses five packets of complimentary soap. 

The heat leaves his skin blushed, the mint in the packets tingling in time with his nerves. He hides the bruises under his towel, and takes a moment to mess with his hair. He likes spiking it up. He feels like maybe he could be tougher like that. It makes him feel sharper. Dangerous. He likes that thought.

He pulls on fresh clothes, bought a little baggy so he can grow into them, and grins at his reflection. He’s himself again. A little swagger, and a lot of repression, wrapped up in a dark t-shirt and jeans that hide what he always tries to forget. If his expression is brittle, at least he knows he won’t be called on it.

He picks up his old clothes and emerges from the bathroom, taking cash and the pizza leaflet out of the pocket of his dirty jeans before he shoves them into a plastic bag. He’s considering throwing away the entire bag, or burning it, instead of taking it to a laundrette. Before he can make any ill-advised decisions on that, Sammy peers around the bedroom door. 

Dean suspects Sammy is going to try and talk to him, so he waves the money and leaflet at him to shut him up. Predictably, it works. Sammy’s eyes light up, and he dashes into the tiny living room enthusiastically, snatching the items from Dean’s hands and grabbing the phone in a whirlwind of hungry kid energy. Dean stifles the laugh, because it hurts, though when Sammy looks up he winks.

He doesn’t need to speak. Sammy knows his order – their order. Half meat feast and half vegetables and olives, because his little brother is a freakish child who actually paid attention in health classes.

He wants to crash out on the sofa, but he needs to stay awake long enough to answer the door for the delivery. Besides, crashing out and actually resting are very different things. He knows from experience that he needs to reach approximately bone-tired before he’ll get any sleep worth mentioning in this state. So he waits impatiently for Sammy to get done with the call. His fingers hover over the radio. As soon as Sammy is done, Dean hits the on button and cranks up the volume, until Sammy is covering his ears and yelling at Dean to turn it down.

Dean does laugh then, not really caring about the ache it causes, and starts to sing loudly and badly along to the music. He grabs one of Sammy’s hands, tugging at it and dragging him into an un-choreographed dance. It’s more swaying and shouting than anything else, but it manages to get through to Sammy. Soon he’s smiling, shouting the words back at Dean. He leaps onto the sofa so he can be taller, and Dean rolls his eyes, tilting his head up. Sam’s head is haloed by the lightbulb.

He jumps forward, and Dean catches him, grunting as he braces himself against the floor. For a moment he thinks he’s going to fall, so he swivels and then lets them both drop onto the sofa. He feels himself grinning, this time for real. For some strange, messed up reason, his happiness makes him want to cry. Sammy reaches out and turns down the music. Dean lets him, because his throat is sore from the shouting now. Which was half of his goal.

Sammy is warm, his arms heavy around Dean’s neck. He carefully doesn’t flinch when Sammy buries his nose into his shoulder. The pressure twinges against a bruise, but he doesn’t care. He can feel his little brother’s breaths, steady and tickling down his collarbone. It’s a rare moment of stillness, for both of them.

“Thanks.” Sammy mumbles the word into Dean’s shirt.

“For what?” Dean feels Sammy’s hand over his heart, curling into a fist as he grabs at the soft fabric. He hopes Sammy can’t feel how hard his heart is beating.

Sammy shrugs, and burrows deeper into Dean’s arms. Dean’s whole body prickles with dread as he wonders if he knows. He can’t. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about. He feels Sammy’s breathing grow uneven, and he wraps his arms around him harder, one hand cradling his head. He pretends he isn’t being girly as he presses a kiss on Sammy’s mop of dark hair.

“Hey, it’s ok, Sammy. Come on, man, talk to me.” He gently pushes Sammy away so he can see his face. He immediately wishes he hadn’t. Dean uses his thumb to wipe away the tears.

“Dad said he’d leave us enough money this time. He said he’d be back two days ago.” Sammy doesn’t sound hurt. He sounds angry, accusatory. It makes Dean want to hug him and defend their father all in one.

“Hey, you know sometimes hunts last longer than expected. It’s not his fault.”

“You always come back when you say you will.” Sammy says it like it proves something, but Dean can’t figure out what point he’s trying to make.

“That’s different.” He tries to keep his tone calm, but he knows he doesn’t succeed.

“I want to help.” Sammy looks fierce, determined, and Dean has to bite his own lip hard to stifle the violent horror that seizes him.

“No!” He looks away from Sammy’s startled expression, because he doesn’t want to see the worry in it. He’s too young to have to worry about his older brother. Too young. “You look too young, Sammy. They wouldn’t hire you.” The lie barely sticks in his throat. He’s sure some people would pay a lot to get hold of him. He’s even surer that he’s willing to pay even more to make sure they never do.

“What do you do?” He’s curious. He always is – Dean supposes it’s natural. It’s not like he could get his fill of questions with their father. It makes him feel queasy all the same.

“Wrestle monsters.” He says, glibly. A ghost of a smile is on his face, and Sammy half-smiles back at him, before shoving at his shoulder playfully. Dean doesn’t hide his wince quick enough, and Sammy’s back to being concerned. Too adult behind his dark, ever-shifting eyes.

“You’re not allowed to hunt without Dad.” Sammy frowns at him, and Dean tries to be proud that the kid is so smart.

“It’s code, Sammy.” Dean is scrambling for an explanation, distracted by how Sammy’s trying to raise his eyebrow, and only succeeding in contorting his face. He’s so busy studiously not laughing that he speaks before he thinks. “I was clumsy, alright? I dropped a wrench on my shoulder. I’ve been fixing up cars. They want apprentices, sometimes.”  
  
“You’re a mechanic?” Sammy stares at him for a moment, and Dean wills him to accept the story. Sammy nods, and then laughs. “You always say you like fixing things. Is it fun?”

Dean feels like he can breathe again. Relief sweeps over him, because he likes the version of himself that is reflected in Sammy’s eyes. He has no idea where the story about fixing cars came from, but he thinks he’d like it to be true.

“I’m not a mechanic yet.” He deflects the question, and is intensely grateful that the doorbell rings. “Shove up, gotta get the pizza.” Dean tackles Sammy down onto the sofa. He loves the indignant, offended tone of his shrieks, as he heads to the door.  
  
“Dean, you’re such a jerk!”  
  
“And what, bitch?” Dean says, over his shoulder. He turns and collects the large cardboard box, handing over the cash quickly. He slams the door before the delivery man gets a chance to tell him off for swearing, or question his age. “You love me anyway.”  
  
“Yeah, ‘cause you got pizza!” Sammy retorts, and Dean lets him take the box.

He watches Sammy settle on the sofa, giant box in his lap. The pizza steams as the lid opens, and he has to keep letting the slice go because it’s too hot. Abruptly, Dean feels starving. He leans over the back of the sofa, and grabs himself a slice, even though it burns his fingers. He takes a huge bite, and revels in the warmth. It’s comforting like nothing else. No matter where they are, shitty pizza is always the same. He vaults over the back and lands next to Sammy, bouncing the cushions enough that Sammy has to stabilise the box.

“Hey, be careful!” Sammy protests. He’s so careful, for a kid. Dean can’t help grinning affectionately as Sammy wipes a greasy hand on his jeans before he picks up the remote for the TV. “Cartoons?” Sammy looks at him, all puppy dog eyes, and Dean sighs. He’s going to give in.

“Fine, whatever.” He takes another bite of pizza, and lets Sammy pick the channel. He pretends he’s watching the cartoons, but he isn’t. Instead he watches Sammy watch them, glad that something so little can bring his brother uncomplicated joy. It’s why he likes pizza. It’s simple, easy to handle. Nothing like the confusing muddle that taking care of Sammy makes him feel. Or how it feels knowing just how it will go when their father gets back.

Dad will check on Sammy. Then he’ll take Dean aside and tell him he did a good job stretching out the money, and Dean will shrug and say he’s not stupid. And if he notices that they have more than when they started, he’ll tell him he got it wrestling monsters. Dad will assume that’s code for stealing, and Dean won’t correct him. Maybe this time, Sammy will say it’s code for fixing cars, and Dad will tell him he’s glad Dean’s trying to keep Sammy on the straight and narrow.

He’ll tear himself up inside trying to hate him. He doesn’t know how he would cope if Dad questioned him properly, if he asked him to tell the truth. He doesn’t think he could lie that blatantly. The thought of being caught out by Dad is another tangle of emotions he isn’t equipped to deal with. But Dean doesn’t think he needs to worry about that, not really. That much attention and care isn’t something he’ll ever get.

Dean watches Sammy until he falls asleep, and carries him to the bedroom. He’s as quiet as possible turning out the lights.

The next day, their father gets home. Dean’s predictions are proven right. He never asks.

**Author's Note:**

> Heya! This is my second ever Spn fic and I'm NERVOUS AF but i really had to post this, it wanted to be written!
> 
> Hopefully this is ok and in character! I just. I have a lot of feelings about young!Dean and young!Sammy ok!
> 
> Comments and kudos feed my dark soul!
> 
> <3


End file.
